Blitzed (Rules of Possession Book 3), page 28
I headed for my office.
30
JESSE
The next week was more of the same, and the few days I had with Andrew before he had to leave again just weren’t enough. The scrutiny increased when the Outlaws pulled out a win by one field goal in the fourth quarter. The reporters were back outside of the center and each one had brought a friend. I ignored them as I drove again carefully through the throng. I didn’t want mug shot number five to be for running someone over. I heard the screech of camera equipment on my bumper from someone who apparently couldn’t gauge distance and rethought my “no vehicular manslaughter” policy.
Ari had warned me to strap on my boots. That we’d have to endure a couple of weeks of media. He neglected to tell me that a troop of turtles would be setting the pace.
But people would move on. As a whole, they had short memories. There was always a new scandal, and we’d be old news. I tried not to be a bad person and wish for someone else’s misfortune. I truly did. But someone having a wardrobe malfunction would be nice right about now. A secret love child would be fucking amazing.
Other than asking a few questions, the kids had already lost interest. I sent up a prayer of thanks for typical teenage self-absorption. I did my damnedest to keep things as normal as possible and for the most part, I succeeded. However, a few parents had stopped in to pick up their kids, informing me loudly that they wouldn’t be returning.
I listened to their speeches with my arms folded and a placid expression on my face. I deserved a cookie for not telling them that this wasn’t an airport and there was no need to announce their departure. Instead, I gave them the flyer of a nearby boys and girls club. It wasn’t LGBTQ+ oriented, but I wanted the kids to have a place to go. That was the point. And if they came back on their own, I wasn’t going to turn them away, parent approval or not.
Around noon, a familiar face appeared in my doorway, and I stared at him for a few seconds before my brain kicked on. He’d filled out a little more since the last time I’d seen him and his hair was a little shorter and grayer. “Dad?”
He grinned, his smile a little nervous. “Hey, Jesse. Long time, no see.”
I had my mother’s coloring and features, but the familial resemblance was there if you looked hard enough. Something about the way we walked and our mannerisms. Considering how little we’d seen each other in the past twenty years, that was nothing short of remarkable.
Sometimes I thought that was why it was so easy for my mother to throw me away. I’d often found her looking at me quietly, her green eyes—my eyes—troubled. She’d walk off, but not before muttering something about genetics having the last laugh.
“Your beard is gray,” I blurted.
The last time I’d seen him, it was salt and pepper at best. I did another head-to-toe survey, a certain lightness blooming in my chest. I missed you. Even with all of his flaws and everything he’d done, that remained a simple truth.
“That's the first thing you noticed?” His eyes creased with a smile so familiar that it took my breath away. “I was in town on business and I thought I’d drop by.”
“I’m glad you did. It’s so good to see you.”
“Is it?”
There was something behind those friendly eyes that I couldn’t quite get a read on. Nothing new about that—I never could. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You never come to visit, Jamie.”
“I’ve been…busy,” I said awkwardly. “And I don’t go by Jamison anymore.”
“Right, sorry. Jesse.” He smiled ruefully. “And I guess visiting goes both ways. I’ve missed talking to you.”
Standoffish Jesse worked for everybody else. Not so much with my father. I was still angry at him for things that happened in the past, yes. but familial ties could be stronger than titanium. Right about now, those ties were winding their way around my heart. Watching Andrew deal with the loss of his father only made me grateful that I still had mine.
I stood, feeling the press of tears behind my eyes. I took a step and he took a step…and before I knew it, he was hugging me tightly. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured in my hair.
You’d think so.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice a little rough. “I hope so.”
He held me for another minute before he patted my back. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s have lunch and catch up, yeah?”
I cast a glance back at my desk, covered in paperwork. “Um….”
“Come on,” he cajoled. “You don’t have an hour for your dear old Dad? I came all the way from Buffalo.”
I chuckled. “Well, when you put it that way, lunch is on me.”
I took him to Spice, one of my favorite diners. It was only ten minutes from the center, but I took the long way, showing him around some of my favorite spots. I felt like a little kid at show and tell. I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t seen him in so long.
Before I knew it, an hour had passed. I briefly thought about work before I said screw it. My dad didn’t come to town every day of the week. And we’d never connected quite like this. I showed him the park where I ate my lunch sometimes and my favorite bookstore/café. He was enthusiastic and attentive, and I soaked the attention up like a sponge in the desert. I drove past the community mural, pointing out the parts my kids had painted to represent the harbor, and his stomach rumbled.
He patted it with a grin. “Looks like the old stomach isn’t quite the art aficionado that we are, Jaim—Jess.”
I chuckled as I made a quick left and headed for the diner. “You’re going to love their burgers. Do you still eat them all but raw?”
“Rare,” he mock-scolded. “Any other way is criminal.”
Spice was a hole in the wall, but the food was great and inexpensive. Management was gruff with customers, which usually got on my nerves. I was grateful for it now, though. I couldn’t see any reporter giving me a hard time…at least, not without getting tossed out on his ear. We ordered burgers and fries, and the waitress delivered our food in a jiff.
“So how are things going, Jami—Jess?” My dad asked as he got busy with the salt and pepper shakers. “I know things are pretty crazy right about now.”
“You can say that again,” I said around a mouthful of burger. “I knew it would be this way…well, not exactly this bad. But things will die down. Hopefully.”
“And McAdams? How’s he dealing with this?”
“He has the good sense to be elsewhere,” I said with a little grin, and he chuckled. “His schedule has been so busy that I’ve barely seen him. Three consecutive road games. Apparently, that’s pretty rare?”
He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. I think it’s time for you to brush up on the rules of the game, Jamison. Jesse. Fuck.” He sent me a wry smile. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
Not for anyone who knew me. That only highlighted how long it had been since he’d had any meaningful presence in my life. But like he’d said, the phone worked both ways.
I’d been Jesse since Joshua patched me up in his kitchen. My last encounter with a john was a bad one—he’d been a violent man who left bruises on me both visible and not.
As Joshua pressed a bag of frozen peas to my eye, he quietly asked all the right questions. Do you want to file a police report? Do you want to go to the hospital? And most of all, are you okay? The answer to all his questions? No. Especially the last one.
I took the bag of peas—snatched them, really—and held them in my hand. Squeezed them until the bag tore and tiny smushed peas spilled out on the pristine gray counter. “I don’t want to go to the fucking hospital, Knox. But I sure am tired of being Jamison Foxhill.”
“I can imagine.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “That’s all you have to say? You can imagine?”
“What else do you want me to say? You don’t have to be Jamison. You can be anyone you want to be.”
I tossed the peas in the sink and angrily brushed off my hands. “That’s a load of fanciful bullshit.”
“Is it? You’ve been with me for a month now, and you won’t leave the past behind. I’m trying to give you a new start.” His smile carried a wealth of sadness. “Maybe now you’re ready to take it.”
I’d blinked at him, wondering at the simplicity of his response. That I never had to be Jamison again. A week later, I was Jesse Fox. And that was just that.
Except for my father, who proceeded to call me Jamison four more times throughout lunch. When the check came, he couldn’t go to the bathroom quickly enough. I shook my head wryly because some things never changed. I pulled out my wallet and checked to see if I had any cash. Ding.
Maybe he was a little sketchy, yes. But for the first time, the conversation seemed centered on me—the current me. Not the me he remembered before he’d taken off to be with his new family. He’d asked a lot of questions about Andrew—maybe too many, but he was a football nut, so I could deal.
He was trying. And for that, I could deal with a few aborted mentions of my old name.
Ding.
I frowned as I glanced at my phone, and then realized the sound was coming from across the table. No, under the table. I peered under the table and looked around on the floor…then the booth seat, where I found my father’s phone. I frowned at it for a few seconds, thinking. And then I reached over and picked it up.
The recording app was on. The timer ticked away at an hour and forty-five minutes and counting. There were also two missed texts on the screen.
DMann: Did you get anything yet
DMann: I paid you, Foxhill. Get me something
DMann? Why did that sound so familiar? It took me a few moments, but I finally connected the dots. Dylan Mann, the gossip columnist. He’d left me three messages on my phone before I blocked the number, and two down at the center.
Kelly’s words drifted through my head again. You’ll have to talk to the people in your life. The ones your work with. Your family members. Unfortunately, you’re about to find out who can be bought.
It was hard to believe. My dad had his shifty ways, but he was still the guy who’d taught me how to ride a bike. The guy who’d shielded me from the worst of my mother’s temper when he was home and built me a skateboard ramp in the backyard. That guy? He was trying to set me up? To get a sound bite about something private to sell to the highest bidder?
I guess things—and people—changed.
I pressed the red button and the recording stopped. Then I deleted it before I put the phone on the table with a decisive click.
I picked up my wallet and pulled out a bill large enough to cover both our meals, then stuck it under the salt and pepper shakers. As I walked past the cash register, a waitress glanced my way. “How was your meal?”
“Enlightening,” was all I said before I headed out the door.
I made it to the car and got in, my hands shaking on the steering wheel. My phone lit up with a call, and I could only hope it was Andrew. I would fucking love to hear his voice right about now. Instead, I saw the name Ballbuster.
“Even prisoners get lunch,” I said by way of hello. Joshua hadn’t been to the center in three days and I wasn’t in the mood for his shit. “I’m on my way.”
“I just left a meeting with Schwartz,” he said, sounding distracted. “I need to speak to you when I get back.”
An impromptu meeting with our biggest donor? I swallowed. I could only imagine how that went. And then the rest of his words filtered in. “Back? Where are you headed?”
“I got a call from Dale, and I have to make a quick trip up to Delaware.”
“Something wrong?”
“Nothing that bad. He and George said they have something they need to tell me in person, and I can’t wait. You know how bad I am with surprises.” He paused as a mechanical voice announced something in the background and then came back on, sounding a little harried. “Okay, I gotta go.”
“But—”
“Call you later. Promise.”
He hung up before I could say goodbye, but I said it anyway.
I stared out the windshield as I wondered if the center could survive without the annual Schwartz donation. Schwartz’s son had committed suicide because of bullying five years ago, and he’d been a staunch supporter ever since. But there were a lot of needy, deserving places that could use his money. Places that didn’t have a formerly sticky-fingered coordinator at the helm.
Fuck.
I stayed until I saw my dad come barreling out of the restaurant, looking both ways. Clearly, he’d forgotten where we parked, and I was glad when he started walking in the opposite direction. I waited until he turned the corner to drive off, and texted Molly not to let him back through the center gates. I swallowed down another life lesson.
Sometimes the past should remain just that.
31
JESSE
I’d never been so glad to see the end of a week.
The reporters had died down around the center, just like Ari promised. Other news. New people to crucify. Now I just had to deal with the consequences of having my life splashed all over the media for an entire week.
On the way home, I risked a visit to the grocery store. My thought process was simple—I could be in and out faster than I could make an Instacart order. Two minutes in, I wished I hadn’t. I got recognized twice even before I made it through the produce section. To be fair, they didn’t seem hostile. Just nosy. Nosy I could handle.
In the checkout line, I absently looked at the magazine rack and froze to see a tiny picture of my face. Dark Past for Humanitarian? I comforted myself that it was just a local paper—barely better than a circular most people lined bird cages with. There was also a picture of Andrew and me—the one from our soccer game—in some trashy gossip rag whose main bread and butter seemed to be pondering the existence of aliens. The byline questioned if I should be working so closely with kids.
I’d like to say I just walked past. That I got my ham and cheese, organic strawberries, and Moon Drop grapes and went about my business. Instead, I bought a copy of each. As the clerk rang them up, she squinted at the cover of the splashiest one. “Hey, isn’t that—”
“No,” I said, sticking my debit card in the machine.
I remotely started the car before I even left the store and hustled for Andrew’s SUV. I tossed my groceries in the back and got in, knuckling the door lock immediately. I was glad I’d caved to his request that I use his vehicle. Getting stuck somewhere in my temperamental Plymouth would really cap off this sucktastic day.
Just thinking about my Plymouth made me think about my dad, who’d called me twice since our lunch. I needed to look for a new car. Something nice and reliable. I was ready to close the door on the past and make some new memories.
I let my head thunk back against the headrest. I sat there for a few minutes, my eyes closed. I couldn’t stay long because the SUV wasn’t exactly low-key. Someone who shall remain nameless had thought it was a good idea to get plates that read OUTLAW1.
I expected to miss being just Jesse Fox, the slightly boring but dependable coordinator, who quietly did good work in the community.
I just didn’t expect to miss it this quickly.
By the time I pulled up to my small bungalow, I was ready to crash. I sat in the car for a few minutes, letting a song I liked play out, while I thought about all the obstacles between me and going to bed. There was still dinner to make, a sink full of dishes to clean, and I was pretty sure I didn’t have anything clean to wear tomorrow.
I wanted to embrace my inner slacker. I wanted to stuff my face, watch something mindless, and fall asleep on the couch…and that was just what the hell I was going to do. It suddenly became a lot easier to get out of the car.
I didn’t bother to fix the beautiful sandwich I’d imagined when I zipped through the supermarket. Instead, I made a couple of ham and cheese roll-ups and dipped them in mustard. I finished my haute cuisine with a handful of grapes and lay on the couch as if dead, an arm across my face. The friendly light of the TV flickered in the darkened room, but I didn’t have the energy to watch. I was also too wired to go to sleep.
My phone rang and I groaned as I glanced at the screen. Sweet Jesus was calling, and it wasn’t a holy call. I liked to save people in my contacts the way they made me feel, and damned if I didn’t say that phrase every time I spoke to Trace King.
I answered and got that shit out of the way immediately. “Sweet Jesus, what is it now?”
“Good to hear your voice, Jesse. Or should I say Jamison?” His voice was still deep and smoother than honey. Didn’t seem to affect my knees the same way anymore, though. “I’m guessing that’s a no to all my repeated attempts to woo you back.”
“Oh, is that what they were?”
“I don’t buy flowers for just anyone.”
“No?” I flopped back on the couch, closing my eyes yet again. “How’s the wife, King?”
He chuckled. “Always giving me a hard time, huh? Some things never change.”
“I don’t even have the energy to give you the time of day,” I said tiredly. “It’s been a rough one.”
“So I’ve heard.” He made a noise of derision. “It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? Usually, it would be the player taking heat for being in a relationship with a man. But since he got ahead of it and came out a few years ago, the heat is all on you because of your past.”
“Yes, yes, irony is a beautiful thing. Anything else? I’m pretty sure there’s a reporter in my azaleas, and I want to turn on the sprinklers.”
“I called because I thought you could use a friend.”
I was quiet for a moment as I thought about that. My mantra to leave the past in the past had never seemed wiser. We’d been lovers and boyfriends…sometimes more and sometimes less, but friendship? I wasn’t sure we ever had that.
“Okay,” he said slowly when I didn’t speak. “Then I’m calling as someone who’s about to take some of the heat off of you.”
